Cooking is not rocket science
by littlefurryguy
Summary: Is it? A silly little one shot.


Inspired on kcwriter's commentary on bad cooking skills and fanfiction.

**00000**

"Leo, really, it's not hard."

Donatello stood at the kitchen's entrance. His intention had originally been to take some cranberry juice, but the scene he found made him fear to even place a feet into the room.

Michelangelo, trying to sweet talk Leonardo into preparing dinner.

_Shell no_.

Now, Donatello was a pretty clever turtle-guy; he understood nobody could be as naturally disastrous as his older brother was in kitchen. It was a generally accepted fact that cooking wasn't rocket science. Well, sometimes it was … but to inevitably call for disaster when you try to boil an egg? Nah, Donnie wasn't buying it.

Somehow, the purple wielding turtle _knew_ it was anything but a farce, an act that the other turtle happened to put on every time he was handed a pan. Or a knife. Or a toothpick.

Like the ones Mikey just put besides a worried looking Leonardo.

"Now, take a tortilla and bend it as I did. No, wait, that's too mu-. Just … let's try with the next, okay? And do it less forcefully. Yeah, that's right. No, a little more. More. _More_. Leo, you have to … no, that's okay, I told you to. I'll tell you what, I'm gonna do this while you watch, and next time you'll try it again, ok?"

And that was the reason behind Donatello's theory, the fact that Leonardo frequently managed to avoid this particular chore, by claiming how crappy his skills were.

_Bullshit._

Or any other, geekier, curse.

The thing was that the genius of the bunch wasn't buying it anymore. Mentally saying goodbye to his beverage, he opted to stay where he was in order to avoid interrupting his younger and older brothers. But he was going nowhere, no sir, not until he collected enough evidence against the faker.

Besides, it was probably the safest spot at the Lair, all things considered. Because, really, if Donnie's hypothesis happened to be accurate, then the turtle in blue was the most inventive of the group, as the ever increasing list of new and never repetitive kitchen's related accidents proved.

Then there was the detail that, no matter how perilous some of those disasters looked, nobody ever got hurt but Leo. And those always were minor cuts, burns and bruises. But he wasn't counting the spited meals nobody could digest, or the poisoning attempts somebody always managed to prevent.

"Now, slow and easy, bro."

Donnie's attention, which was yet to move from the pair, became even more focused. Apparently he was also gathering material for another of his pet theories relating his family, one that said that Michelangelo's sense of danger had never ever even started to develop.

The boiling oil made the tiniest blup-blup noise.

"What is that for, Michelangelo?" Donnie finally interfered.

"Huh? What, this? We are doing taco shells." Mikey's grin showed how much he enjoyed having an audience; however, his flamboyant gestures made an already pale sick Leonardo look even worst.

"Wouldn't it be easier," _and safer_ "to ask April or Casey for some?"

An even flashier smile followed Donatello's question.

"That industrialized stuff cannot compare to _this_." The oil's blup increased its beat, which seemed to be the sign for Michelangelo's focus to return. "Now, Leo, as I told you. Sloooowly."

_This is a bad idea_, Donnie's irrational part thought while the scientist in him regarded Leonardo's frozen state.

"Bro, you have to let it go." A pause followed, which was impressive, considering how Mickey's patience seemed to be wearing thin. "Leo. Leo, drop it. It's okay! You can do it, just opeeen your haaaand, and _voilá!_"

It didn't happen.

Blup

"Let it goooo." Nothing. "Leo. Let. It. Go." Nada. "Drop it! Just drop it!"

Fizzle gurgle spurt

Pandemonium.

Later, Donatello had enough time to ponder while he took care of Leonardo's burns. His patient had two minor blisters on his right hand and a tender spot on his left arm, and that was all. Miraculously, their younger sibling was unscratched, even if he currently was taking a guilty trip, blaming himself for Leo's injuries.

And for kicking his brother out of the kitchen.

And throwing the bowl of chili on his direction.

In the end he apologized, even if Leo asked for forgiveness himself. On good terms again, they swiftly decided that Michelangelo would finish dinner, exactly what Donatello had been expecting. Unfortunately, Donnie still had no proof to sustain his theory. Events degenerated so fast, even for a trained ninja like him, that he couldn't explain how it had _really_ happen.

But he could keep an eye on Leonardo, waiting for him to trip. And there was another thing he could do.

"You are the best actor I've ever heard of."

He said that to his retreating brother's back. Therefore, he never knew for sure if the other heard his words, as there was no pause or any other indication pointing to recognition.

And he never saw the butterfly smile.


End file.
